


I Watched You... While You Were Sleeping.

by Write_like_an_American



Category: Cable and Deadpool, Deadpool (Comics), Marvel, Marvel (Comics)
Genre: It's your own fault Nate, Kawaii sleepytimes, M/M, Pity the fool, You shouldn't have lobotomized yourself, a little bit of angst, cuteness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-17
Updated: 2013-01-17
Packaged: 2017-11-25 20:56:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/642876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Write_like_an_American/pseuds/Write_like_an_American
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cable watches Deadpool sleep. There's really not much to it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Watched You... While You Were Sleeping.

**Author's Note:**

> **Set in my delirious headcanon, where Providence never fell and my two favourite heroes rode away into the sunset to live happily-ever-after in the land where the bong-trees grow.**

Wade is one of those impossible people who manages to be messy in everything they do, be this eating, fighting, or even (inexplicably) tidying up. Sleeping is no different. The mercenary lounges across their double bed like an overgrown toddler; stretched out on his stomach with arms outflung and face buried in a pillow, which now doubles as the occasional snore-muffler. He’s a twitcher, and Nathan knows that any moment that obscure climax of his dream will be reached and Wade will roll; ponderous and slow as a breaker-wave; and no doubt leaving a damp trail of drool behind him. He’s wearing one of Nathan’s shirts. It was crisply ironed and folded when he stole it, about a week ago. Now it’s a ruckled sea of miniscule wrinkles, draping down to mid-thigh on the smaller man and hiked up over the curve of his ass. His fingertips only reach the seam between cuff and sleeve, and he fists at it now, mouthing nonsense words into the pillow as he chatters endlessly back and forth with the people in his head.

Nathan, staving off the endless silence that his mind has become in wake of his telepathy with books and a fat file of Irene’s reports, imagines he could watch him all night.

But he hasn’t had a proper sleep – not real, passed out, dead-to-the-world sleep of the type Wade is showcasing right now – in nearly a week. His neck is stiff. His back has set up a churning ache that no amount of sparring with Wade can cure (in the training hall or in bed; because honestly the way they make love is more like a war of attrition). His eyes are gummy. Nathan can feel the heat behind them when he scrubs at his face, forcing himself to stay awake. Just a moment longer. Just another minute to lay and _think_ , before he gives in to the demands of his body and lets the silence in once more. 

Without the numerous press of every man, woman and child in the world; all clamouring for attention at once with their banal little needs and their mundane little lives, whilst being completely unaware that their innermost secrets were laid bare for him to see; his head feels empty. Drained; hollow.

Like a dam after dry season, the lock has been opened and the buildup of information has swamped away, frying all the circuitry as it goes. Nathan’s always pretended his powers were a burden – and in a way, they were. Having so much in a single head… It was like suffering severe synesthesia. Everything was felt at once, recurrently, and in a myriad of different ways. Sounds and sights of places he had never been; clips of language he had never known, much less spoken. A Russian Cathedral, the vibrant favelas of Rio; the alps in summertime; the Big Apple; a lonely pagoda raised on bamboo stilts above a river’s burst banks… And the thoughts. They had been the worst of all. Seven million of them. Fear and hate and rapturous love bounced off him like ping-pong balls let loose on a linoleum floor. Everything had been confused. Convoluted. Messy. 

But once he’d learnt to filter though, the floods had become a steady stream, not drowning him so much as bearing him aloft. Still water. Background noise. He’d barely noticed them, thrumming away in the back of his mind; a link to delve into whenever he felt the need. 

Now, however, everything has changed again.

The resevoir is stagnant. It’s so thick with weeds he can hardly make out his own reflection, let alone anyone else’s. He still finds himself reaching out for other people’s minds whenever he’s alone, longing to feel _something_ , but he never does. The next day though, he always tries again. It’s like a bad habit. An addictive _need to know_ that no amount of infonet-surfing can cure. Nathan sits on the bed and wonders if this is what it feels like to lose a limb. He’s constantly attempting to throw his weight onto a leg that is no longer there; to run whole marathons with it when it simply doesn’t exist. He misreads smiles and scowls, and forgets to school his own expression to complement those around him. Half the time, he’s surprised if he can tell someone’s angry before they throw the first punch. 

Still, if there was one thing you learn about humans when you’ve been the world’s most powerful telepath, it’s that they’re predictable.

Irene will always smile at him when he brings her a mug of warm chai, no matter how bad her headache is. When Gareb’s getting tired, his spine bows, becoming more and more stooped as time goes by, but he won’t stop working until Nathan either gives the okay or outright orders him to rest. Prester John’s moustache spasms when he’s angry. Nathan’s noticed that it spasms an awful lot when Wade’s around.

And really, that brings Nate back to where he started. The exception to his every rule. The one person he has never been able to predict – with or without telepathy. The flightiest, and most inexplicably loyal man he’s ever known; the man who would follow anyone for a bottle of Mountain Dew, a few gestures of affection and a kind word – or a lot of money and a shiny new gun to play with. It works either way.

The man whose head isn’t so much a dam but frothy white water rapids; constantly turning and changing with eternal, mutable certainty. 

The one thing you can know for sure about Wade, is that Wade will always defy your expectations.

Sometimes he won’t meet them. He’ll huff and he’ll pout and he’ll shoot some innocent guy in the head for looking at him wrong, and Nathan won’t talk to him for a week. And sometimes – like now, for instance – he’ll overtake them. 

Wade turns. He snuggles in, drawn to Nathan’s body-heat like a moth to the shadows behind a flame. There is no space between them, no inch of air like the mutant usually keeps between himself and his partners, and the combined heat of their bodies is almost too much to bear. Nathan can feel the subtle definition of muscle in his abdomen; the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. Wade clings like he never wants to let go. His skin is sweaty and fever-hot. The bare leg that flops between his own is rough with scar tissue, the calf tensing and relaxing almost imperceptibly; following some off-kilter, inaudible beat; and suddenly the self-proclaimed messiah is hit with a wave of gratitude, and something he thinks might just be love.

He’s stayed. Despite all that Nathan’s done – behind his back, to his face, around him, over him and through him; and Nathan would be lying if he said he regretted any of it – Wade’s stayed beside him. He left when Nate told him too, and then, when Nate needed him most… No questions asked. No grudges held; just a handshake and a wry smile between two old friends, and things were the same as they’d ever been.

Only better, of course, because this time Wade’s not leaving.

**Author's Note:**

> **…Okay, so that ended on a slightly creepier note than intended. ‘Wade’s not leaving’. Sure, Nate; don’t you go all sparklepire on me… Mind you, you can’t really expect better from a fic entitled ‘I Watched You While You Were Sleeping’, can you?**
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> **This was rapidly rattled off this morning before my exam, because I am a fool and I totally have my priorities in the right order. It was originally meant to be a sweet, snow-strewn Prime fanfiction for my darling wife (who I keep forgetting to give my username to. If Audrey is reading this, by some random coincidence… it’s me! (Your Cathy (Bryn)! I’ve come home! It’s so coooooold…)) But… well, what can I say? Wade has a habit of getting underneath my skin.**
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> **Still, hopefully I’ll start uploading TFP fic at the weekend! And maybe another chapter on my Spideypool (eugh… this means I’m going to have to write smut with Peter in it… *gripegripegripe*).**
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> **Anyway. Peace. Love. Gay sex.**


End file.
